One day it hits you. The world might not be coming to an end after all.
You sit up. You realize you've woken up at a beach you've never been to before. You see the sunshine and suddenly you remember that, though there is no guarantee that the future will come, there is no guarantee it will end either. Or maybe you just imagine the whole beach incident while staring out your office window.
You realize you're too old to be where you are, too young to feel so old.
"The world isn't about to end."
And now, you have to do something about it. Sitting on your ass is no longer an option. Fucking the same person every stupid day is turning a once-fresh romance into a repetitive motion disorder. The happiest moment of your life is behind you and that's where it will stay unless you make a change.
You remember that though the world we live in is full of brain aneurysms, flesh-eating bacteria, HIV, strokes, fatal car accidents, freak electrocution, heart attacks and thousands of other semi-exotic ways to die, none of them are happening to you. You made it through yesterday, you might just make it through today, along with almost everyone else. The world might not end, and you might have to do something about it.
Maybe it's time to take responsibility. Maybe waiting for the apocalypse is boring. If you don't have the balls to bring it about, you're probably going to have to accept that it's just not coming. What to do with all this time?